


phichit "plausible deniability" chulanont

by jaewub



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Clubbing, Crushes, Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, First Kiss, Grinding, M/M, POV Phichit Chulanont, Phichit Week, Phichuuri Week, lowercase aesthetic, this is full of swears, weird conversational writing style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaewub/pseuds/jaewub
Summary: okay, so, yuuri would not exactly be the first boy that phichit has kissed. among other things.but, even without asking directly, because it seems like calling any attention to any of this is an unstomachable risk, it, ah, seems a lot like phichit… might not only be the first boy yuuri’s kissed, but. um. maybe the first anybody.which… is a lot to put on someone who—okay, it sounds like the worst thing, but—was honestly just… kind of in the right place at the right time?





	phichit "plausible deniability" chulanont

**Author's Note:**

> long time listener, first time caller. thanks for reading. <3

okay, so, yuuri would not exactly be the first boy that phichit has kissed. among other things.

but, even without asking directly, because it seems like calling any attention to any of this is an unstomachable risk, it, ah, seems a lot like phichit… might not only be the first _boy_ yuuri’s kissed, but. um. maybe the first anybody. 

which… is a lot to put on someone who—okay, it sounds like the worst thing, but—was honestly just… kind of in the right place at the right time?

like, it was no secret. that phichit was… well… open to the idea. maybe, um. highly open. i mean, it was one of those long-term-fantasy-haha-but-really things, one of those we’re-such-great-friends-but-seriously-if you-ever-wanna things. let’s just say it’s no secret that phichit, like many of the people who suffer the heady misfortune of having to be around yuuri all the goddamn time, feels opportunistically towards the situation.

the situation being: the -nth drink, the loud dumb pulsing music and the crowd pressing in around them on the one weird occasion that got katsuki yuuri out of his goddamn apartment for one goddamn night—his birthday.

not that he really even wants it to be like, a birthday, i mean, he literally begged phichit not to make a thing out of it, not to tell anybody who didn’t already know, turned pink and scuffly and asked him to downplay it and just take him out like he was somebody who normally, offhandedly went there, this “out,” whatever that meant.

but—and, look, i’m sure you already know this, you’ve seen the boy—yuuri has this way, of… not magnetism, exactly, but something sort of… magnetic-adjacent, something… gravitational, something tidal, something that turns people a little bit to him, like plants toward a window across the room. they barely notice and it’s not like they could help it, but… okay, it’s dumb, but you know how in magazines or whatever, they talk about how you can tell somebody likes you? how you can look at peoples’ feet, and at whom they point, (and phichit double-checks, always, and overcorrects, always, the angle of his shoes after having read this,) some weird unselfconscious part of the anatomy that apparently channels attention down and out like a dowsing rod, or—you know what, never mind, let’s just leave that one alone. 

but let’s just say that wherever yuuri is, in a big group of people, is like the middle of some stupid convoluted snowflake of attention, everyone near turned, just subtly, in toward him, casually ready in case he should swing his attention in their direction.

the point is, when yuuri impulsively decides to do something, there’s no shortage of people around, waiting to get sucked in. but phichit… usually tries to make sure he’s the closest at hand, just in case.

which is why, after x number of definitely-not-birthday shots and assorted other beverages, when yuuri’s dancing starts getting a little more, uh—fuck it— _interactive,_ it’s no real surprise against whose body he starts to not-exactly-slowly press back. phichit lets his hands hang uncomfortably at his sides for a beat, but then just sort of carpes the diem, and lets them float up to plant on yuuri’s inscrutable hips, thumbs suddenly the most alive part of his body as they maybe rim the top of yuuri’s pants to meet the skin that’s incidentally there. remember what we said about opportunism?

but here’s where it gets funny—when phichit “plausible deniability” chulanont’s mild attempt at subtlety gets wrenched wide open by this drunk idiot he’s got his arms around, who reaches for each of his pretty-modestly-placed,-considering hands and, threading fingers, relocates them: one to his collarbone, long fingers dangling upwards to his throat, and the other to a slightly more, um, decisive grip on his hip. god, this boy has no chill.

phichit shoots a quick glance around them, just in case—the last thing they need is unwanted attention, something for tomorrow-yuuri to fret about, if he happened to remember, but nobody else seems to give a shit where his hands are, even if they are tangled up in his best friend’s own chewed-up fingers, or even if one is—oh fuck—hitching a ride on that old habit straight into the humid slickness of yuuri’s mouth. 

the heat of yuuri’s tongue burns along phichit’s fingertips until he can’t stop himself from tipping his head, just enough, to lick a tiny salt kiss onto the back of yuuri’s neck, where sweat trickles down from his hair because—oh, don’t worry, they’re still dancing. if you can call it that. pressed together in a long, arcing line, and phichit can’t even worry about the direction his feet are pointing because yuuri’s feet are literally tucked in between them, nevermind the—you know—rest of the scene here. 

but let’s skip ahead, just a little. just to yuuri, flushed and sweaty and tired and dehydrated, clinging to phichit’s arm for dear life, finally ready to leave the club (what? we didn’t skip that far ahead) and realizing their other friends had already ducked out. it hadn’t been his birthday anymore for hours—not that he wants to care, but america does things like this to people—and drunk-ass yuuri’s starting to get a little whiny. he clutches phichit’s hand, arm, shoulder as they walk home, trying to whisper into his ear but mostly just stepping on his feet, a nonsense chain of fricatives and plosives that shoot straight from ear canal to the unconscionable case of blue balls phichit’s succumbed to over the course of, oh, all fucking night, of yuuri grinding his perfect, stupid ass against him, sucking his fingers and generally being the worst person in the world.

somehow they make it home. yuuri’s shirt’s coming off before the keys can do their trick in the door, because when you’re a katsuki i guess the whole world is your onsen, and phichit’s fully expecting to tuck him in, carefully taking off his glasses and leaving both a water and a sports drink side by side on his nightstand because, let’s be honest here, he’s an amazing friend and—

—when his head hits the wall, he literally doesn’t know what hit him, half a “what the f—“ falling out of his mouth before it’s, um. stopped. sucked up into the artless, hungry mouth of the shirtless boy he’s been dancing with for hours, and been living with for—okay, shut up, that’s not relevant. 

yuuri’s lips taste like half a dozen different kinds of liquor, so, basically just like nail polish remover. and he has… not to sound heartless… no idea what to do with them. and yet… it’s like… well, it’s sort of hard to… okay, fine. it’s a terrible kiss. a fucking godawful kiss, and phichit’s head is both pounding where yuuri caught him unaware _(no kidding),_ and also, uh, throbbing from behind his belt, and yet. and. yet. 

it’s somehow the most staggering kiss he’s ever felt. which… must be why the room is spinning so goddamn fast.


End file.
